


Them Old Waiting Room Blues

by Nightdog_Barks



Category: House M.D.
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Kid Fic, Love Triangle, Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-09-26
Updated: 2007-09-26
Packaged: 2017-10-18 04:53:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/185240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nightdog_Barks/pseuds/Nightdog_Barks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Wilson's too wrapped up in the whole fruit-of-my-loins stuff to pick up on my totally righteous anger.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Them Old Waiting Room Blues

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for [](http://ficwriters-anon.livejournal.com/profile)[**ficwriters_anon**](http://ficwriters-anon.livejournal.com/) and originally posted there 9/18/07. The POV in this small story is an unusual first for me.

_**Houseficlet: Them Old Waiting Room Blues**_  
 **STATUS:** Originally written for and posted to [](http://ficwriters-anon.livejournal.com/profile)[**ficwriters_anon**](http://ficwriters-anon.livejournal.com/) ; posted to [](http://house-wilson.livejournal.com/profile)[**house_wilson**](http://house-wilson.livejournal.com/) on 9/26/07.  
 **TITLE:** Them Old Waiting Room Blues  
 **AUTHOR:** [](http://nightdog-writes.livejournal.com/profile)[**nightdog_writes**](http://nightdog-writes.livejournal.com/)  
 **PAIRING:** House-Wilson, strong friendship, Wilson/Cuddy.  
 **RATING:** A mild "R" for language.  
 **WARNINGS:** No.  
 **SPOILERS:** None.  
 **SUMMARY:** _Wilson's too wrapped up in the whole fruit-of-my-loins stuff to pick up on my totally righteous anger._  
 **DISCLAIMER:** Don't own 'em. Never will.  
 **AUTHOR NOTES:** This was written for [](http://ficwriters-anon.livejournal.com/profile)[**ficwriters_anon**](http://ficwriters-anon.livejournal.com/) and originally posted there 9/18/07. The POV in this small story is an unusual first for me.  
 **BETA:** The wonderful [](http://deelaundry.livejournal.com/profile)[**deelaundry**](http://deelaundry.livejournal.com/) , who knew what the doctor would have said (and supplied it!).

 **Them Old Waiting Room Blues**

  
"Shit," Wilson says, for what seems like the nine hundred and fifty-seventh time tonight, "shit, do you _know what's happening?"_

I resist the urge to whack him with my cane, because really -- how could I not know what's happening? Seeing as how I've been here with him all goddamn night, waiting for Cuddy to pop the little brat out.

If only she hadn't had him thrown out of the delivery room when he'd started hyperventilating in time with her contractions. I could be home right now doing something useful. I'd think of what that is, but Wilson's off and jabbering again.

"My baby's being born!" Wilson says, and Christ his eyes are gleaming like a rabid squirrel's, "House, _my baby is being born!"_

"I think I heard something about that," I grumble. "Oh, about _nine months ago?_ Y'know, back when you and Cuddy started sneaking around -- and she had that terrible accident and just happened to fall on your dick?" I glance over to see what effect my bitter words have had ... and groan inwardly. Nothing. Wilson's too wrapped up in the whole fruit-of-my-loins stuff to pick up on my totally righteous anger.

And my sense of betrayal. Let's not forget that. I certainly can't.

This should've been _my_ kid. The Fruit of _my_ Looms. What the hell was Cuddy thinking, passing me up in favor of Mr. Smooth? Mr. Silver-Tongued Devil? Mr. Don't Worry I'll Always Be Here For You Until I'm Not?

Screw this; I don't even know what I'm doing here.

I get up to leave.

And that, of course, is when Dr. Whatshisname shows up.

I should know his name, but I don't -- I'm sure Wilson knows his first, last, and middle name, his parents' names, his grandparents' names on both sides, what his MCAT scores were, and the name of his first girlfriend.

If it _was_ a girlfriend.

I have my _doubts._

"Dr. Testorossa -- " Wilson begins.

Okay, maybe it was a girlfriend.

" -- how's Lisa? Is she okay? What about the baby? Is anything wrong? Oh, God, something's wrong, isn't it?"

I sigh heavily. Loudly. Trust Dr. 75% Patient Mortality Rate to leap to the worst possible conclusion.

Unless, of course, something really is wrong ...

I squelch the thought down. Nothing's wrong. It can't be.

"Dr. Wilson, the baby's breech position continues to complicate the delivery -- "

Oh, fuck, something's wrong.

" -- but Dr. Cuddy is still insisting that we not do a c-section. She wants to give it more time."

"How's the baby?" Wilson asks.

Doctor OB shrugs slowly. _Damn_ , he's irritating. "The heart rate is fluctuating but nothing too critical. I'd typically do a c-section at this point, but it's Dr. Cuddy's call."

Wilson's face has gone totally white and he looks like he's about to faint. I can't allow this. Who's going to get me home if he faints?

I push Wilson into a chair and take Dr. Whatshisname aside.

"Look, Dr. Lamborghini -- "

"My name is Testorossa!" he protests. I ignore him.

"Just make sure Cuddy's okay and give Wilson his kid. Think you can do that?"

"Dr. House, we are doing our best -- "

"Do better," I snap. "I always do."

I go back to Wilson, who's sitting with his head in his hands. If he starts crying I'm _really_ going to whack him with my cane. As it is, I steal the loose change from his jacket pocket and buy myself some Funyuns from the vending machine.

We sit there for another hour -- or maybe it's only fifteen minutes, it's hard to tell. If time were passing any more slowly it'd be going backwards. Wilson is alternately a nervous wreck and an inveterate pacer, and his pacing is making _me_ a nervous wreck. For a while I amuse myself by trying to set things in the waiting room on fire with my eyes, but it doesn't work, and just when I'm about to call it a life and go home, Dr. Italian Stallion comes back out. Just for a minute I brace myself, but this time he's smiling.

"Dr. Wilson," he says, in that jovial, _you're in for a lifetime of debt now_ voice, "congratulations, it's a boy!"

"Well, _duh!"_ I say, because we've known _that_ ever since the tests for Tay-Sachs and Canavan's, but Wilson acts like it's the biggest surprise he's ever heard in his life. God, what an idiot.

"It's a boy!" he whispers, and then he turns to me and puts his hands on my shoulders. Miraculously, I don't flinch away. "It's a boy!" he yells, and the rabid-squirrel gleam in his eyes has changed to ... something else. Something bright, and crazy, and --

And then he hugs me.

And ... well, he's warm, and solid, and I can smell the aftershave he put on this morning, and the lingering antiseptic scent of the hospital, and even his shampoo, a little bit, and it really takes a few seconds before I realize what an absolutely _girly_ moment this is and shove him roughly away.

He doesn't even notice.

"Wuss," I mutter, but he's not paying attention -- he's started down the hallway, and he's pulling on my arm, tugging me along.

"House, come on!" he says, and what can I do but roll my eyes and follow?

***** 

It's one of the ugliest babies I've ever seen. But then, _all_ babies are ugly -- tiny wrinkled Chinese homunuculi, all round faces and grasping fingers.

God knows what parents see in them.

"Isn't he beautiful?" Wilson sighs.

I shift position, making sure he can see how much my leg is hurting, but he's still wrapped up in this new-father thing. Cuddy, for her part, had been too exhausted from actually doing all the work and was mercifully asleep when we'd seen her.

"Can we go now?" I ask.

"Don't you want to know what we've named him?" Wilson says.

God, why do you punish me so?

"I _know_ what you've named him," I growl. "Louis, after your grandfather. Kid'll get beaten up in every playground from here to West Edison."

Wilson shakes his head. "Louis Gregory," he says. "Louis Gregory Cuddy-Wilson. Still think he'll get beat up?"

I look at the kid again.

Louis Gregory. I shrug. Not as memorable as Elvis Bowie House-Cuddy, which is what _I_ would've named him, but not bad.

I look at Wilson, and there's that gleam again.

And I think -- maybe I know what's happened tonight, and maybe I don't. What I do know is how it felt when Wilson wrapped his arms around me, and how different that was from Cuddy's arms, or anybody else's arms, for that matter. Maybe if they gave the kid my name, they want me to stick around.

I can deal with that.

Besides, somebody's gonna have to protect the rugrat, with a name like Louis.

  
~ the end.

  



End file.
